The Serial Mentor
by 0allthingsdark0
Summary: Serial killer Tony Stark didn’t plan for it to happen like that. He didn’t plan to get angry and exasperated, didn’t plan to go into that alleyway to find his next victim. He didn’t plan it, but he expected it. What he actually didn’t expect, was to find a teenager. A teenager that was being pinned to a wall. Or Tony saves a teenager from being molested and the boy sticks along.
1. One

It always began like this.

Always - as in he didn't plan for it to happen at all.

But here he is, in the basement of one of his multiple secret properties around New-York, with a woman tied to a chair in front of him.

He never planned to go out that night, to get sidetracked and exasperated, never planned to get so angry he had to turn into a dark alleyway where he hoped he would find a drunk or some other poor soul wandering and choke them to death. He never planned it - true, but he expected it. He expected it every minute of every day, waited for somebody to play with his temper, to pull the strings that represented his nerves so harshly he had to mentally restrain himself not to do something he would regret later.

Why did they always have to make him angry?

Why?

It would be easier for everyone if they just left him to his own devises and didn't bother him with their casual talks and emotions that threatened to give him hives or worse - make him care.

Why didn't they understand?

Why? why? **why?**

He had to kill, he just had to! He can't just not do it! Not killing for a long time was complete agony. When the want appeared - every day that Tony ignored it he gave a piece of himself, of his sanity, away. And this game of 'How long can you last?' will go on until every cell in his body is trembling with pain, he feels weak, his head is filled with static, he can't act rationally, work, talk, act. No love. no boundaries. no consequences. Just Tony, some poor sod that decided to smile at him, a long knife, and animal instincts on which Tony was acting.

He won't remember doing it, won't remember slaughtering his victim, hitting them with a knife so much that they resemble a pile of market meat more than a person. He won't remember how the blood appeared on his clothes, or how a disfigured body suddenly appeared in his bathtub. He will wake up leaning to a wall, his hands red, his suit red, the bathroom red, everything red, but the most important part is that he'll wake up feeling good. Satisfied. As if the world was whole again.

Tony knew that if he tried to ignore the urge longer, then he might just go insane and hurt someone he actually didn't want to hurt.

So yes.

He didn't plan for it.

But he expected it.

And so, while walking back from work (it was pure night. Tony actually hoped someone would try to mug him), he went into that alleyway, looking at the trash cans scattered around and searched for someone, like a predator. Tony hoped he would find a homeless person somewhere behind the cans and be done with it faster than he intended to (Yes, homeless people were like that to him, Tony actually called that type of killing a quickie.) but all he found were rats and stray cats that squeaked and ran away as soon as they saw him. Tony went in farther and was beginning to lose hope and go find some slut when he heard it.

A quiet shuffling coming from the farthest corner of the alleyway.

'Jackpot' thought the manical billionaire, already on his wits end and practically shivering from the want, the urge, the desire to have his hands digging into someone's tender flesh, or having the knife in his backpocket lunged deep in the person's torso, or chest, or neck, God let it be the neck. There's always more blood visible on the person - on him -when the knife hits the neck!

It always irked Tony that he had to get a shower after killing - with all the blood stuck on him. But he didn't feel disgusted by it, he actually enjoyed it quite much. He liked how it was warm at first, then it would get cold and sticky an eventually dry on his skin or clothes. He liked the way his skin tingled and stretched under the cover of the scarlet liquid, as if it wasn't blood, but motor oil, the one Tony uses so often while building his machines or giving his bots a tune up. It reminds him of work, of home. Blood isn't disgusting, it's comforting.

Well...

At least to him.

But he, unfortunately, has to shower, because it wouldn't look good if someone caught him sitting in his penthouse or trying to sneak into his office covered in blood that wasn't actually his.

Tony walked along the cobbled ground that made his feet hurt, trying to be as quiet as possible. It was always better this way, he can cover the mouth of his victim before they would have the chance to scream and then continuing the work would be easier that usual. Tony's hand went to his backpocket without his brain giving its consent.

Once more.

He didn't plan it.

He expected it.

But what he actually didn't expect was to find a boy.

A goddamn teenager.

A teenager that was being pinned to the wall by some blonde woman.

Now-now... Tony may be a serial killer, and he wasn't living in some kind of stupid delusion that he wasn't a monster, but he wasn't as heartless as to kill a child or a teenager, he was more of an adult men and women kind of guy. It didn't matter to him if the person he was going to kill was a good or a bad one, it didn't matter if they had children, loved ones or a loyal dog waiting for them to come home that day. He had a need, he had to satisfy it, in the best of hedonist ways. Fire didn't care that it was burning trees, animals and humans. And that's what Tony saw himself as - fire. Untamed and wild. If fire didn't care, why should he? But killing children always seemed so wrong to Tony, as if if he did it, he would cross some kind of line that he had previously driven in the sand.

Consequently, seeing a grown woman looming over a defenseless boy in a dark alleyway didn't give him good vibes. The teen was leaning on the wall with his back, looking around himself in a blind hope that someone would come out and help him, but the only thing he could see were the dark and tight walls that loomed over him.

Was this woman, maybe, a colleague of his? Did this boy occur at the wrong place at the wrong time? He has very bad luck if he managed to appear in a place with not just one, but two murderers.

Tony may not be heartless enough to kill a boy, but he still wasn't going to interrupt the blond if she was going to kill the scared teen. What was the golden rule of Jesus? Do unto others as you would have them do unto you? Yes, he would be quite displeased if someone decided to interrupt him while he was in the process of unliving someone.

What if he just watches? Both of them hadn't noticed him, too far down their little scruffle for other things out of their bubble. Seeing the kid die by someone else's hands may just please him enough not to act like a complete hotheaded psycho, but more like the calm an apathetic piece of shit he is.

That's the thing about Tony. He liked experimenting, killing his victims in different ways, dragging the process from a few minutes to days just to find what gave him the biggest dose of dopamine. Since the first time he killed and to this day he found out that killing with his hand, a knife, a scalpel or any other cold weapon was the most effective. Something about actual physical contact with his victim gave him chills, made him taste the purest form of euphoria there can be. And blood. He liked blood. He liked to cut his prey and show them their blood flow before the real pain would begin.

Killing with a gun was quicker, more clean. But not in his top five. It was too cold, too detached. On the other hand, he actually liked the mess. All the contents of the brain spilling out of its housing (with the bits of said housing) and ornamenting the floor. Pink, red, brown and multiple shades of these colors mixing with each other, if the gun he was using was a strong one, he may even see an eyeball dangling somewhere in the mess. It was his own unique art. Art that was a bitch to clean up, so Tony usually tried to use the gun in places where he wouldn't have to get rid of the body.

Torture was another thing.

There was something magical in the screams of the others and the knowledge that he made them make those beautiful sounds. Tony didn't want to admit it, but it kind of turned him on.

He even befriended two of his many victims at first, just for kicks, and found out that somehow it actually enhanced his pleasure. Though, that trick was the barred fruit for Tony, he had to be as far from his victims as possible, or sooner than later people will start to notice things. Like the fact that many of his associates suddenly go missing. The first one was just an experiment at MIT, the second one was almost exactly before Afghanistan. He actually attended the funeral of the first one. It was one of the weirdest things he had ever done. Looking at all that people that were mourning his loss, shaking their hands, giving his condolences all while not feeling a thing himself. He was reluctant to go at first, thinking that seeing all his close ones in pain may make him feel guilty for killing the poor guy, but he felt absolutely nothing.

It was the moment he discovered a new thing about himself. Apathy.

He shook himself out of his thoughts, and turned his attention where it belonged, he can't miss the moment he came all this way for because he suddenly fell into a nostalgy fit.

Nothing much had actually changed. The woman was still looming over the boy, and the teen was looking at the blond as if she was a big tsunami wave waiting to sweep him off of a beach.

Tony was beginning to get quite impatient when the woman shifted her head so her mouth will be right beside the boy's ear.

"Well, Peter?" she purred like a cat that was scratching its back against a tree. When the woman came close to the boy's - ' Peter's' - ear, Tony thought she would whisper to him, but her voice was loud enough for him to hear it, so it seems she didn't feel the need to speak quietly, as they were in a place with no windows, and the road was quite far away.

'Better for me' Tony thought 'It'll be easier to enjoy the show'

Then something happened that Tony didn't expect. Again. Today was just full of surprises.

The woman actually licked the boy's ear, the action causing Peter to start trembling violently. This wasn't going in the way Tony wanted it to.

"Why don't we taste you a little better?" Her voice was sweet... too sweet. So sweet Tony thought he would get diabetes just from hearing it.

'Ok, not a normal serial killer, a cannibal, maybe?'

"Please"

A single word, and Tony knew he was wrong. She wasn't a cannibal, she was a pedophile.

"Now-now, handsome" she leaned in "we should seal those lips, shan't we?" and her lips were on his.

She was spoiling it. No. No. No. She was spoiling it!

What is she doing?!

She was wasting a perfect kill!

She was wasting it, **wasting it!**

They were in a dark area with no people around, her victim is helpless and completely at her mercy.

SHE WAS SPOILING IT

She was already at the teen's neck, while the boy seemed to shut down completely and try to block as much of what was happening as possible.

Tony shot out from his hiding spot and made a mad dash to the couple. With one swift motion he put his right hand to her mouth and squeezed her nose shut with the left.

The woman, obviously not expecting it, made a surprised yelp which got muffled by the firm grip on her mouth. Her hands shot out and tried to get his hands off of her, but noticing that her attempts won't do her any good, decided to use her body weight to her advantage. She tilted herself backwards, so that Tony would fall on his back, but, fortunately for Tony, the woman was as light as a feather, and he was stronger than he looked.

Thirty seconds more of thrashing and her face was going blue.

Tony wanted to finish her right then and there, but remembered that he was holding someone who didn't appreciate what she was given.

He let her go.

Tony remembered reading somewhere that trying to stop drinking human blood for a vampire was absolute hell. He thought if this was the feeling that was meant in the book.

Her body slumped onto the floor like a sack of potatoes, and, most likely, hurt her head, but he didn't care in the slightest.

He would take her somewhere quiet, and play with her.

Tony looked at the boy.

He somehow found his way to the floor, and was looking at them with dull eyes.

He had seen him with the woman.

Shit.

Now, if she dies, the boy can put the blame on him.

It won't be enough to convince the police, but he would be more closely monitored from then on, and a couple of alike occurances might tip the police of what Tony had been doing for decades. He might just have to kill him. Not for enjoyment. But because he has to.

Tony his suprise the boy wasn't trying to sneak away and run. He was looking at the woman with the same dull eyes, as if afraid she would wake up and finish her job.

'Interesting'

There was something special about the boy. The way with which he held himself, didn't shed a tear even though he had almost been raped.

'Very, very interesting'

"Hey, boy" Tony called out, hoping that the teen would snap out of his trance and answer him

To his surprise, he did. He looked at Tony with those big brown eyes of his, confirming that he had heard the man.

"What are you doing here in the middle of the night? Won't your mother get worried?" Tony asked, slightly mocking

But the boy, seemingly, took his words seriously, and looked at the woman.

Tony didn't get it at first, but then - "Oh"

OH indeed

Was the woman his mother? A guardian? A step-mom?

It was obvious the teen knew her.

'All the better'

Something resembling joy and glee filled Tony's stomach.

Tony noticed that the boy wasn't trying to find out if the woman was alive or if she hurt herself in the fall, although blood was beginning to pool underneath her head, he was just staring at her. Maybe hoping she would disappear?

Then Tony did the worst thing he could've done

"Wanna come with me? Find out what happens to her?"

Did she deserve to die? Absolutely yes. Did the boy deserve to see her die? Absolutely yes

Did the boy want to see her die?

Peter gave a shaky nod

Absolutely yes


	2. Two

The last couple of days were a grey haze more than anything. He can't quite remember what he had been doing that led him to this point, to this exact moment, where he had agreed to follow someone he didn't know, someone that had just almost made a fellow human suffocate.

Though, it wasn't just the last couple of days. Time moved like it was broken ever since Ben... ever since May.

Everything past the point where he lost them both has been filled with nothing but uncertainty. For himself and his future. There was nothing concrete for Peter to lean on, no one to give him a hand and steady his form that was dangling on the edge of a cliff. He had no attachments, no one that loved him and no one that he could love. Nothing to look forward to other than the school he wasn't attending anymore. Every night he went to sleep in his bed that changed too often for it to be healthy, looked at his old and beaten phone - the only thing he owned besides his clothes - and tried to go to sleep. When he couldn't, Peter would just continue staring at his phone, occasionally checking the time and putting it down again, thinking how unfair it was that other people could just put their heads on a pillow and fall asleep in seconds, how unfair it was that everyone in the damn city was asleep but him and the bats.

Peter changed foster homes like gloves. Nobody wanted a broken fifteen year old to hang over their heads like a sword. He met and seperated with people faster than he was able to keep track of, so in the end he just stopped bothering with trying to form any kind of bridge with those that surrounded him. In the end it would just leave both ends hurt and sad.

People that he loved were ripped away from him so quickly that he didn't know what to feel, how to feel, and if he was supposed to feel at all.

But there was one thing Peter sure as hell wasfeeling.

_Loneliness_

Not alone. No. But lonely.

Those are drastically different things.

Peter's mind was slowly being ripped apart by his own thoughts, taken down piece by piece. His conscience was being tortured by himself and he couldn't do anything but watch it bleed and burn. Peter was not sure if he was alive or dead, or, more specificially, he hadn't been sure in that particular thing for over a year.

Even through all that madness and suffocating pain of loneliness - he still recalled what his uncle told him the day before he and May were shot in front of his eyes.

"With great power comes great responsibility"

The only thing that kept him from using his increased strength on those kids that bullied him in his foster houses. These words resembled the crappy duct tape that tried very hard to keep the sharp and jagged pieces of his mind somehow intact. Peter even thought about using his newfound abilities for good like the Avengers did, but he was too shocked and depressed by the death of the only family he had to get out of the bed in the mornings, let alone find a costume, make equipment and become a vigilante.

A little bit later, though, things started to get better. During another routine foster house change he appeared somewhere good. Somewhere where people didn't push him in the hallways, where other kids didn't steal his food or clothes, where he wasn't beaten up or shun. On the contrary, there was no one but him and his caretaker. Nona. The beautiful, young blond that gave him food, clothes, made attempts at beginning a communication with him and never uttered a single sour word in his address.

Peter thought... hoped that things were beginning to look up, that not everything was as worthless and gloomy as he thought at first.

It had been a long time since he made a connection with anyone, but given time he could've made it work, he could've broken out of his depressive shell, could've gone to school again, made friends, could've felt something but misery...

Could've, could've, could've...

Many things could've happened, but his luck, his Parker luck just kept acting up.

Everything was fine for the first month or so, the bridge that Peter promised himself he won't build began forming with Nona. It wasn't too strong to hold more than a few cars at the same time, but at least it wasn't blocked, as in he allowed her to communicate with him freely.

During the middle of the second month of Peter being with her, she asked him to come with her somewhere. Nona didn't really say where they were going, but that she had stuff to take care of, and she didn't want to let him alone in the house.

The first thing that set the alarms in Peter's head go off was the fact that it was the middle of the night, the second thing was that she never felt uncomfortable about leaving him alone in the house.

Though Peter couldn't just say no. Nona was kind, Nona was lovely, she would never do anything to harm him - but if she had stuff to take care of in the middle of the night, then it can't be anything good. What if she was in trouble? Maybe she was afraid of going alone, because Peter was sure that his coming wasn't about leaving him all alone in the house at all. It sounded wrong that an adult woman would take a teenager with her not to feel scared, but Peter had already lost one too many people, he would never forgive himself if something happened to her.

Peter got out of the bed quickly, got dressed and followed her out of the house. The old grandfather clock near the door chimed loudly, as if warning Peter to not go with her.

The eerie darkness of that night would never escape Peter's memory, it will stay burned in his brain and he would recall every detail he had been able to picture then. It was a special kind of black, one that covered everything like a thick blanket but the full moon and the stars that shone in it like spilled jewels. Peter always thought that it was easier being yourself at night, as if the darkness would cover up all his secrets that he held close inside. The zephyr ruffled his hair quietly, as if petting his curls, somewhere far away he heard the bark of a dog and the ruffling of wings. The atmosphere was odd, but not as odd as Nona. She was acting... strange, so to speak. Her whole body was tense apart from the moments a small tremor would hit her shoulders. She was walking with determination and didn't feel scared at all, Peter could tell, but almost... giddy?. She was twitchy, that he knew for sure. He couldn't see her face from where he was standing, and maybe that was for the good, because there was an ear splitting, terrifying grin on her face.

Only a single look at her was making his insides twitch and his spider sense to go haywire, but Peter wouldn't run away, he promised himself he wouldn't. If he acted like a coward and then something happened to his caretaker... he wouldn't be able to handle it. At all.

"Where are we going, Nona?" his voice was a hushed whisper, as if afraid that there are other people surrounding them.

"You'll see, Pete, we are almost there" Her voice wasn't strained, it was almost childishly happy, and the way she said Pete felt wrong, it felt absolutely and undoubtedly wrong.

Here as it turned out was in some kind of alleyway. Peter knew it was long just by looking inside and not seeing an end. Only pure darkness.

Why were they going in there? Why? Why? Why?

What was going on? His spidey sense would split his skull in half if it kept hammering his brain any longer. It felt like an electrical storm was raging in his brain that, quite honestly, was painful. There was something wrong, there must be danger somewhere, but for all his genius, Peter couldn't guess that the danger was coming from the person standing right beside him. From the person that took care of him for 2 months, cared for him and looked after him. For all his doubtfulness Peter couldn't believe that Nona can be a danger.

"Follow me" came the sugary voice of the blond as she began descending into the alleyway.

And Peter followed, because he trusted Nona.

He was so desperate for someone to love him, to like him that he just couldn't not do anything that Nona told him to. It was illogical, he knew it, but he needed her in his life.

He didn't want to go back to trying to fall asleep and not being able to, he didn't want to go back to the choking sadness that had him in its grip like a snake, he didn't want to go back to the daily anxiety during which he would check all his belongings before going to sleep just to be sure that other kids hadn't stolen anything, he didn't want to go back to the melancholy and misery that occasionally became numbness. He didn't want it. He didn't. He wanted to be happy again, and the only way possible was through Nona. He refused to believe that something was wrong with her. It must be something else. It must be

He walked down the alleyway, not distinguishing his surroundings, not feeling the small stones and the pavement under his feet, not feeling his feet, either. He felt almost nothing at all, except for the darkness, which for some reason he felt with his skin, as if it was salty sea water, and he - the one that had long since drowned in it.

Peter felt like he was walking to his own execution and he had actually missed the trial, the crippling panic in his whole body was so intense it was almost rewriting the promise he had made. Almost.

After what felt like an eternity they came to a halt. Even in the sooty darkness he could see that they were at the end of the path. There was no one there. But him. And Nona. His consciousness finally pieced all the parts together. **But it was too late.**

The next thing he felt were two skinny but strong hands pushing him roughly onto the wall. Peter looked at her.

She was smiling. Her ragged hot breaths were reaching his face and spreading on it like lukewarm water, threatening to get his eyes wet. Her hand shot up and grabbed a fistful of his hair, a low groan escaping her lips while the dread in Peter's stomach kept growing. She wasn't here to kill him, that's for sure, but Peter began realizing that she wanted to do something much... much worse.

Now he understands why she dragged him here all the way from home. If they were home, Peter could've screamed and called the neighbours, but here...

His body began to tremble while her hands began caressing him everywhere, as if she had a thousand of them.

Peter knew, somewhere deep in his mind, that he can easily overpower her and run away, but he just couldn't. He was paralyzed from head to toe, his chest filled with so much fear it felt like his ribs would break under the pressure. The most important part, though, was the fact that even the thought of hurting her made his inside dance with something that resembled glee, and it scared him. Very much.

But she betrayed him! He trusted her, and what did she repay him with?

With trying to rape him?

All the steely resolve he had gathered crumpled away in seconds when she came as close as possible to him and opened her mouth

"Well, Peter?" Her voice purred, sending air vibrations to his ear that made him shake harder.

Peter thought he heard shuffling from the corner, but his attention was cut, once again, when he felt something wet trailing from his jaw to his ear.

It was absolutely disgusting.

"Why don't we taste you a little better?"

Oh god. Oh god. Oh god.

In the midst of his panic Peter couldn't manage to force something out but a quiet and broken "Please"

His breathing was shot. His knees felt like jello. He was lightheaded. It felt like he had gone back, to the times when the spider hadn't bitten him yet.

"Now-now handsome" She was leaning in, her smile so sharp Peter was afraid Nona would cut her with it "we should seal those lips, shan't we?"

She attacked his mouth, her tongue traveling all over his lips and teeth, trying to get inside.

'Please, Please, Please'

Her hand went to his zipper

'Somebody, please!

As if answering to his cries, he suddenly felt her eyes widen and her head jerk back.

Peter didn't understand what was happening at first, too filled with relief to do anything but collapse on the wall and try to crawl as far from her as possible.

But the he saw two firm hands gripping her nose and mouth, not letting her take a breath.

She tried trashing and prying his hands off, but the man was stronger than her.

A little bit later Nona was going blue in the face, Peter silently hoped that the man, whoever he was, would kill her, but he didn't.

He took his hands off and didn't even try to catch her body as it fell onto the floor with a loud 'thwat'

Peter finally looked up to see the face of the man. And imagine his surprise when he saw him

Tony Stark

Iron Man

But most importantly, Peter's favorite avenger, and from now on, it seems, his hero.

Though, he wondered what the man was doing in a place like this. During the night.

It was obvious from his face that he didn't spare the woman to take her to the hospital or to jail, but to do something to her later. And it felt like Peter knew what that something was.

Was he going to kill him? Isn't he witness? It would look pretty bad for his image if he told on him. Almost nobody would believe him, though, he would be called a freak, a psycho. (as if you aren't already)

He was lost in thoughts when he heard Tony call out to him.

"Hey, boy"

His voice was nice, Peter thought.

"What are you doing here in the middle of the night? Won't your mother get worried?"

It could've passed as worry if they weren't in this situation, but Peter knew sarcasm when he heard it.

'Won't your mother get worried?'

What mother?

The one six fit under or the one six feet under?

Oh, and the one that's bleeding on the pavement currently, how could he forget.

"Oh"

He didn't say anything, but the man understood. And was that a spark of happiness in his eyes?

Peter looked at Nona again. Oh, how he wished she just bled out and rotted in here, her face in dirt and rats all over eating her flesh.

He hated that woman.

But, somehow, he thought, the fate awaiting her must be worse than if she was left here.

No.

This death would be too easy, too merciful.

"Wanna come with me? Find out what happens to her?"

He was so surprised at the question he thought he didn't hear right at first.

But then he saw the sharp smile and the twitch of his eyebrows.

Tony was serious.

Is he, most likely, going to be killed by his hero?

Absolutely yes.

Will it be the most violent and gory thing he had ever seen?

Absolutely yes.

Does he want to hear her scream?

He gave a shaky nod

Absolutely yes


	3. Three

Was it right? Was it wrong?

Peter may be trusting and naive, but he wasn't stupid. There were things in life that one shouldn't do, and lines that one shouldn't cross.

What he was doing went against everything that Peter had been taught all his life, everything that Ben and May preached to him. Peter couldn't remember his parents, only little flashes of memories here and then. Even so, if his father was anything like Ben, he knew the man would be disappointed in him if the saw him now. His willingness to cover a crime. His unwillingness to save a woman.

At times like this, when he had to make a choice between acting from his conscience, or acting from his own benefit, between doing the right thing by putting himself in jeopardy, or staying away from trouble while watching injustice happen, a quote would rise from the pits of his conscience.

'With great power comes great responsibility'

That particular quote was his curse and his blessing. It gave him a right moral compass, but in doing so - took away his happiness, his right to a normal life and personal worth. Sometimes he selfishly wishes that Ben never uttered that sentence the day before that faithful night. The night that changed everything.

Even so, why should he follow them? What has this world done for him to be responsible about the things he does? The power is his. The spider bit him, not anybody else.

He shouldn't care about what happens to her. Nona hurt him. Nona lied. Nona manipulated him. Nona tried to rape him, for God's sake.

That particular trail of thoughts took him back a few minutes, to the moment her tongue pulled apart his lips, wet and sticky, found its way to his teeth and began caressing them, trying to find a weak spot that would allow her to enter.

He felt the hotness of her saliva that stuck to him like glue, her soft, but at the same time razor sharp lips that clung to his mouth like leeches... and that taste of strawberries that felt like it was still in his mouth.

Peter's stomach tied itself in a knot, a bile ripping itself out of his throat and splashing all over the floor as Peter struggled to spit it all out, his body yearning to try and rid himself off of her as much as possible.

The taste of acid was actually somehow better than what her tongue tasted like.

After he was done heaving his guts out, that brilliant brain of his caught up with what he was doing, or more importantly, in front of whom. Peter gripped his stomach. Hard. Teeth chattering from the force with which he was straining his jaw.

The scene was pathetic, what would Ben think if he saw him like this?

What would Mr. Stark think?

He should be angry, he should be furious, but... isn't that what heroes do? Help others even though they don't like the person they're helping. Shouldn't heroes be selfless? Forget their own happiness in favor of the other's?

Then what about Mr. Stark?

The man was - should be a hero, but the fact that Peter was seeing him drag his (ex) mother figureby her hand through the long alleyway, not giving a single damn that her skin was slowly piling off of her flesh, or when she would bump into trash cans, rocks, and other obstacles, made him doubt it.

His dragging her left a small trail of blood, that had accumulated and soaked her hair, drag half the way, coloring the cobblestone ground under her with red, until it gradually began losing its hue and stopped.

That uncomfortably reminded Peter of his tube paints and brushes. He used them quite often at school when he was still attending. The blood was the paint, her body the tube, her hair the brush, the ground the canvas. It was... disturbing and lovely at the same time. Peter liked red. Red and blue. A very interesting combination. Would more 

<strike>paint</strike>

blood leak out if he squeezed 

<strike>the tube</strike>

her body?

He watched as Mr. Stark manhandled Nona, who seemed to be nothing more than an empty doll with its strings cut, and threw her into the trunk of his car that was standing a little further down the lane.

Nona's limbs were motionless and dangled on the edge of the car in such a manner, that Tony could have cut off her leg and arm if he closed the trunk with enough force.

The man was rather silent, just looked at the girl like she was a gift from above, and smiled sweetly - Peter had thought that that kind of smiles were preserved only for the nicest of things.

Yeah. Many of his beliefs were being challenged.

Peter followed him like a ghost - imperceptible, but there, he studied all his movements, absorbed every grimace on the man's face, every movement of his limbs, every tightening of his muscles, the professional way with which he was handling everything while not losing a bit of his elegance. Stark was moving with the grace of a ballerina, hyperaware of his limbs and their limits. Truly this wasn't the first time he had done this?

He was too afraid to blink, what if he suddenly missed something important?

For the sole reason of being too busy admiring Stark, Peter did not notice that they were not the only ones that decided to go for a walk on this mortal night.

You know how it is in cartoons, when someone moves so fast they leave a blurred trail of color? That's how it was when the sound of a foreign shoe hitting the asphalt reached Tony's ear.

He spun around so fast the only thing Peter noticed was a blurred mixture of Stark's jacket and the background, even with his enhanced senses. The gun just... appeared in his hand, as if the man was a magician that suddenly materialized a bouquet of flowers out of his sleeve. It happened a lot like how a bolt of lighting would hit the ground, really. A flash of light first, and the sound of thunder a little later.

The blast of the gunshot was like a pin dropping in the endless sea of silence, a very loud, cracking noise, that made Peter's oversensitive ears ring. The boy shuddered at hearing the unmistakable sound of a body falling down and smacking itself on the pavement.

His nose picked up the smell of the fired powder coupled with the thick aroma of metal, which, most likely, was from the blood that he hadn't seen yet.

Peter forced his legs to turn around.

There it was. Laying on the ground. Unmoving.

A body.

Because that's what it was now.

An empty shell. Nothing more and nothing less.

There must have been a personality there once, a consciousness that had leaked out of its rightful place along with the liquid that had kept it safe and sound.

Peter looked at the 

<strike>shell</strike>

man on the ground. He was middle aged, lying in a growing puddle of red, his limbs bent at a weird angle, that would've certainly been uncomfortable if he had the ability to care. 

<strike>It's</strike>

his eyes were open, glassy, cold and unmoving. Dead. Staring at something only he could see. Or not see. But they weren't scared. No. Mr. Stark took care of him too fast for him to even comprehend what he was seeing, let alone have the time to feel scared.

The image brought on a rush of sudden, unwanted memories of his aunt and uncle, that were hurt in a similar way. He remembered the warm and sticky blood that kept on flowing through his fingertips, coating his hand and his wrist in red, and no matter what he did, no matter how hard he pressed, it just kept flowing out, out and **out**. Watching the life, literally, drain out of their eyes was the worst thing Peter had gone through in his life, not even the experience of almost being molested by someone he trusted could compare.

What, for God's sake, was Peter doing? Had he completely gone mad? Did the loneliness and hopelessness infringe him so much, that he stooped down so low, teared through all his principles, and drowned Uncle Ben's words in the mud? Just the thought of such disloyalty to his 'departed' relatives made his body cover with pimples, and a strange shiver to pass through the arteries in his heart.

This may have been someone else's uncle Ben. Maybe there was a person waiting for him at home, alone and without a single soul in this mist-shrouded world. And he was involved in the fact that that soul, that person full of life and energy, was going to be turned into him? The lifeless, half-dead creature that he had become?

What the fuck was Peter doing?!

As if sensing his doubt a light weight settled itself on his shoulder, and turning his head he noticed that it was Mr. Stark's hand.

A hand in which there was no longer a pistol, a hand that had just killed a man. This was the hand of an avenger, which stole the lives of many people, as well as gave the joys of technology and science to the whole world.

Maybe Stark counted on it being a comforting gesture?

It was on his shoulder. Sat there, pressed on his bones and muscles, causing him pain. And Peter understood that he would not have felt a drop of resistance on his skin, for Mr. Stark did not have the power that would be necessary for this. It was not his strength ... it was the weight of his sins.

It should have been comforting. And it was. In some sick, twisted way it was.

"We're leaving"

Two words said... in no way. The tone was not demanding or pleading, it was neutral.

The hand slipped from his shoulder, and with it went the stones that had accumulated in Peter's heart.

Tony just turned around and went to his car, never turning around, as if knowing that Peter would follow him like an obedient dog.

And he was right.

After all, Peter went.

Why not? What did he have left? A life? A worthless existence that nobody needed, even him?

Mr. Stark will still probably get rid of him sooner or later, so why not make the last few days interesting?

No, he no longer valued his life.

The loud pop of the closing trunk drew his attention to the car in which he would soon be.

It was, of course, an eye candy, but not really on the level that Stark could afford. Although... it could be understood. Stark came here with a goal that was not, frankly speaking, legally praising, and having a very expensive car would drive more attention to it than needed.

Peter quickly opened the door and shuffled inside the passenger seat next to the driver.

The car smelt of leather. Peter always associated the smell with something expensive and authentic. It was cool and comfortable, the seat hugged his form better than all his beds combined, and Peter exhaled the air that he had kept in himself all this time, putting his heart at ease.

Stark was already beside him, and as soon as he put his hands on the wheel the car came to life with a silent hum. It didn't even need keys for ignition. The man didn't glance at Peter, just put his foot on the gas pedal and focused on driving.

It was very strange for Peter to look at the man, see the street lights reflecting in his eyes, listen to his even and calm heartbeat even though he had an unconscious woman in the trunk of his car. He remembered hearing somewhere that an even heartbeat, even when killing, was a true sign of a natural born murderer. The fact made Peter admire Mr. Stark more than he already did, while knowing and accepting that that piece of information shouldn't have had that specific effect on him.

Fear him? Maybe. That was what a normal person would do. Avoid him? Yes. A natural reaction to danger. But admire?, try to learn his methods? That's something new.

"Aren't you scared, Peter?"

The sudden appearance of the silvery voice made Peter jerk his head in the direction of the older man, trying to guess if he heard him right, or if he had spoken at all. The fact that the man wasn't staring ahead anymore, but at him, answered his question.

"Why should I be scared?" Peter didn't even think of the answer until after it came out of his mouth, but he still made sure not to stutter accidentally, because, come on, evil or not, it was still Tony Stark, and he may be fanboying inside a little.

One of Tony's eyebrows went up.

"Well..." he gave a sudden and a very fake cough "Firstly - you were about to be molested when I came along, secondly - you just saw your mother" Peter's face scrunched up in disgust "or whatever she was to you get knocked out and put into a very strange and shady looking fella's trunk" it was Peter's turn to raise an eyebrow "Thirdly - you're in the car with a dude that, if you hadn't guessed, isn't a pretty butterfly, and he's driving you to God knows where to do God knows what. So, take your pick, all of the options are scary."

Peter wanted to protest, say that none of the situations he listed were actually scary, when he understood that yes, they were, in fact, frightening.

For a normal person, that is.

"No" Peter decided to answer "Fearing - implies caring."

Yes. Of course. He has to care for something to be scared or worried about it.

He was scared when the first effects of the spider bite began. He was scared when May and Ben were being slaughtered in front of him. He was scared when the last person he had left in his life was trying to violate him.

But now?

What did he have to be scared of?

Tony's eyes narrowed as the teen answered, the kid wasn't lying, and he would've been worried that the boy lost his self-preservation instinct if it wasn't such a good chance.

The boy was a clean page.

If he was broken to the point of not caring about his own life, then Peter was the human embodiment of a fresh start.

The best part is that Tony could be the one who will reshape the teen, he would be the one who will remold him, piece all the broken and jagged pieces together and create something new from something that was out of use.

He can get himself an apprentice .

But there was something that kept Peter back, something that didn't allow him to reveal and use his potential.

Peter didn't fight back when the woman was clearly attacking him.

Why didn't he? That was the million dollar question.

When Tony came out of the autopilot regime that he somehow put himself in, he noticed that they had reached their destination.

It was a private house.

Peter didn't recognize the district, and he noticed that the closest house was located fifty meters away or so.

He followed Mr. Stark out of the car.

Tony went to the trunk and opened it. The blond was still unconscious. Maybe the knock to the head she got from falling to the ground was a lot stronger than he thought?

Even so, without a care in the world, he took her by her hair, smearing some mixture of wet and dried blood into his hand, and forcibly threw her onto the ground, like she was nothing but a piece of garbage that wasn't even worth picking up.

"Bring her inside" this time the voice wasn't void of tone, it was a command, and Peter recognized it.

At that very moment, when Peter crouched to pick her up, it just aligned that Mr. Stark's head eclipsed the full moon in the sky.

It looked like he had one of those halos that saint people had in the pictures he saw hanging from the walls in churches that May dragged him to.

It was just pure irony, and he couldn't keep the chuckle that escaped his throat.

The sound brought a frown of confusion to the older man's face, but he didn't comment on it, deciding to turn around and go into the house instead.

Nona, actually, wasn't that heavy as it turned out. He considered her for a moment. Her heartbeat that he so wished he couldn't hear, the steady rising and falling of her chest, the way she made his skin crawl. All he had to do was squeeze lightly, and she would be gone.

It is all it would take.

Tony opened the door and Peter stepped in, holding the woman in his arms. The lights seemed to turn on themselves, not too bright to blind them or alert someone, as if accommodating to the situation they were in.

The house was modern. Not too expensive and not too humble. The golden middle between the two.

Nice creamy walls that had colorful pictures hung on them, an ebony table and chairs that, Peter was sure, cost more than his kidneys did. A couch, a TV, a carpet, and several doors.

Tony went to the one that was beside the long lamp on the corner, and turned the handle. It was leading to a stairway.

A stairway which went down.

Tony made a gesture with his hand, indicating for him to go in first.

Not wasting any time doubting if Tony was going to kick him in and close the door or stab him in the back, Peter went in.

And if he deliberately hit Nona's head onto the doorway, Tony didn't comment on it.

Peter went down, lights turning on as he went, and when he finally came to a halt he saw what they came in there for.

There was a metal chair in the middle of the room.

With straps.

A table full of scalpels and knives, shelves filled with bottles and books and other tools.

"Strap her in"

Oh. This was going to be interesting.


	4. Four

That is how it happened.

That is how he ended up sitting in his basement with a woman tied up in front of him. The only difference is that the teen currently leaning on the wall beside him wasn't mentioned at the beginning.

The sharp, almost greenish light of the room was giving it a creepy clinical mood. It was reflecting in the boy's eyes, endowing his usually warm brown irises with a completely foreign and alien look, something that has never touched the boy before - coldness. His hands were crossed, one of his legs bent, making his leaning on the wall easier.

Tony took his time to marvel the girl.

There she was. Sitting in his chair. Her pretty tiny hands bound by leather straps. Maybe a little too tight, but that doesn't matter now. She's his. Her beauty, her sugary pinkish lips. And dear him, she had freckles that occupied most of her cheeks. She was perfect - a forbidden fruit for him alone.

Tony could feel the sweet scent of her skin and her perfume. Some may say that strawberries smell better, but it can't topple the scent of body odor if you asked him. So sharp and nice and yummy. It drowned him.

Unfortunately for her. Nothing smells and tastes better than **blood.**

Tony's body was very tense with anticipation of what was to come, butterflies storming violently in his stomach while almost every muscle in his body seemed to itch with something that he just couldn't reach and scratch away.

The day has already gone for far too long, he was at his wits end, the want to kill someone, anyone, raging in his skull, screaming at him so-so loudly. It was tearing him from the inside, taking him to the point where the line between a friend and a stranger just blurs and silently vanishes into to the hellish pits of his soul - a place he won't be able to reach until it was splattered with blood, until the life of another person was added to the collection of stains that he has been collecting since his twenties.

Yes, he had killed the man on the street, but it wasn't enough. He didn't have time to play with him, he didn't have time to stand and marvel what he had created. The kill wasn't done for pleasure, it was done out of need, to get rid of an eyewitness.

It was taking Tony a huge amount of self-control and willpower not to just bounce of his chair and rip the woman's hair off of her scalp clean with the tips of her roots leaking blood all over. He wanted to sink his teeth into that heavenly flesh and decorate her with his teeth marks, with evidence of her belonging to him. To taste her.

Just the thought of any violent act was making his fingers twitch subtly. Usually he was able to contain everything he was feeling inside of him and not give even a slightest bit of indication of what was really going on inside his head, but that particular tick he wasn't able to tame no matter how much he tried.

This was ridiculous. It felt like he was the one being tortured. But he couldn't begin now, not while she was still unconscious, it won't give him the satisfaction he desperately needs, only buying him more time to find another victim.

Oh... he was going to punish her. Severely. He was going to make her beg for mercy and the reject the plea over, and over, and over. He was going to playwith her until he watched the last bit of sanity leave her eyes, the last bit of hope crash under her feet, only then, maybe, will he let her become a part of his collection.

Soon… soon.

He just has to calm his excitement. He just has to wait. A little more. A little bit more.

He just has to cling to reality a little bit lo-

"How do you do it?" a voice filled the otherwise silent room. It was full of curiosity and some badly hidden awe.

He snapped his neck to the direction of the sound, almost having forgotten that he hasn't gone alone on this little adventure.

Tony didn't miss that Peter didn't ask the trivial and boring 'why' that everyone seems so kin on knowing. Oh no, Peter wasn't interested in the reason, he was interested in the method. Moreover, the teen interjected while he was busy drowning himself in his mind, as if trying to get him out of it. He had a lot of time to ask the question, and from the conversation they had earlier it became obvious that Peter wasn't scared. So why did he choose that exact moment to ask that question? Can that mean that he knows how it's like? Maybe he under-...

Tony blinked.

Peter was staring at him expectantly.

Oh, yes, the question.

A predatory smile split his face.

"What exactly interests you, Peter? My methods are invasive, reciting them all will take us the whole night." Tony answered, his tone slightly mocking.

"How did you not get caught?" Peter's brows furrowed, as if troubled by the question "This is clearly not the first time you're doing this, judging by the, uh... furnishing" the teen finished his question, hands gesturing to the clearly not family friendly milieu.

Ah. That's what he wanted to know? A little disappointing, but not overall unwelcome.

The question wasn't an easy one to answer, either, because Peter had a point there. He was a public persona. His doing something out of the ordinary was bound to catch someone's attention. But there was a catch there. He wasn't acting out of the ordinary. Ever. Killing was a second nature. It washis ordinary. He may have acted a little strange when he had just began, but not ever since.

"You see, Pete" Pete? "I can tell you that I'm a careful man, that i never kill when it's daytime" not entirely true, but the only exception from that rule is when he's in a closed space with no people around "that all my properties either have garages or are located far from the properties of others'" yes, if he has someone in his trunk, taking them out with people around will be dangerous. Having a garage is the best solution to that problem, but he just couldn't resist the temptation and drove them here. It was making him all the angrier. He risked driving them to a house without a place where he could safely take her out, and this is how she was repaying him? With making him wait? "I can tell you that I make sure never to be a close acquaintance of my prey, that i always make sure to get rid of the body and clean up the crime scene" not necessarily always, for example when he kills in a public place. In that situation he just makes sure not to leave any evidence linking back to him "that all my equipment; guns, knives, poisons are manufactured by myself" Tony put his hands together and placed them under his chin, making it lean on them "but that wouldn't be completely true"

"W-what?" in his confusion Peter stuttered "What do you mean, Mr. Stark?"

Tony's eyes sparked with something that Peter could only place as excitement. Clearly taking all of this out of his chest was making the man happy. An artist without an audience or however the hell that saying goes.

"What do you think of when you say murderer?"

Well... it was obvious, wasn't it? Someone who has taken a life, made the existence of another man perish. But before he could voice his opinion, Tony went on.

"Ah, I know what you are thinking about, a murderer is someone who killed" the sentence was uttered with such a mocking tone that Peter doubted the meaning of the word for a moment "so tell me, Peter, what about people who kill in self-defense, do you consider them murderers?"

The boy's eyes widened, because, yes, technically it was murder, but applying such a term to a man who didn't have a choice but to take a life to protect his own… It felt wrong. He just knows that if Ben killed to protect May he wouldn't have considered him a murderer, never would even think of it, even though he would have been one.

Murderer. The word felt vile. Filthy. The people it was applied to were villainous and putrid, that's what he was taught. People that killed in self-defense were victims, not murderers,weren't they?

"Or, another example, what about soldiers? They kill too, it's their job, and, let me tell you, not everyone they kill are terrorists" Tony finished, a waspish chuckle leaving his throat, mocking Peter's point of view.

"The truth is, Pete, that if people wanted to seewhat I really was, they would have done so long ago. It's their mentality that doesn't allow them to recognize what is under their noses" Tony spread his hands wide "Look at me. Everyone sees me as a hero, and the ones that don't, see me as an irresponsible ass that thinks only about himself, but none of them, absolute no one suspects this" his voice was getting tougher and louder as he neared the end of his rant.

"Nowadays… the term 'murderer' is reserved for psychopaths, if you took a life out of necessity no one thinks less of you. That is why it's easier to hide in plain sight, Peter. Think about it. What is it that I do as Iron Man? I kill, but the ones I kill are mostly scum of society; terrorists, villains, thieves - people that others want gone, and no one bats an eyelash. I don't even have to make excuses for doing what I do, people make them for me."

At that moment Tony's voice adopted a special scoffing tone, as if he was mimicking a child.

"Oh, but he didn't have a choice! Oh, but he did it for us! Oh, but he's drowning in guilt!"

Mr. Stark's face scrunched up.

"Oh this, oh that! It's sometimes so amusing to watch the expressions on their pretty faces when they understand that their little hero is about to smash their skull into smithereens.

By the end of it the older man's chest was rising and falling viscously, his breathing out of control. Though, feeling that he was losing it, Tony closed his eyes, forcefully bringing himself under control. He knew that he was chained, but worst part about it was that he was holding his own leash. There was no one but him that could calm himself, and, not to alert anyone around him, Tony learned self-control to a fascinating degree.

If there were any doubts in Peter's mind about the man being insane, there were none now. The last bit convinced him that he was bonkers. But Peter couldn't help himself. The way that Mr. Stark just brought himself back from... whatever the hell was happening to him was so astounding.

Peter relished in the man's words, devouring every bit of information like a sponge. His logic, his way of thinking, it made sense. Come to think of it, Ben, his uncle, was a retired soldier. He had killed, but Peter never, and he means never, applied the term 'murderer' to his uncle. Ben was kind, peaceful, happy and forgiving. But... wasn't Mr. Stark the same, from the outside?. What if there was a rotten and hideous creature hiding under his beloved uncles skin like there was under Mr. Sta-

With great power comes great responsibility.

No-no... how can he even think about something like that?. It was just plain heinous! Peter was ashamed of such obnoxious and verminous thoughts that dared to cross his mind.

"What is it, Peter?!" Thundered the voice of the frustrated maniac close by "I see the familiar spark of madness slowly filling your eyes, but there is something that holds you back! What is it?!" The venomous glare on Tony's face was almost scary "What's holding you-"

His rant was interrupted by a low groan that sounded from the chair.

Whatever irritation there was on Mr. Stark's face immediately melted away, replaced by a crazed grin. The game was about to begin.

"W-what?" sluggish blue eyes tried to focus on their surrounding "Where?"

If the grin on Stark's face was crazed before, it was psychotic now.

Confusion, he liked it. It was good, so unbearably good. It meant that she didn't remember.

"Ma'am" Tony coughed, regaining his composure "do you recall what happened to you?"

The blonde's head lolled helplessly once, twice, before finding some strength to hold it upright, glassy eyes staring at him.

"N-no, I don't..." her eyes widened "Tony... Stark?"

Ah, she recognized him.

"The one and only"

"Why am I... are you here to help me?"

Tony fought the chuckle scratching his throat, it wasn't the time. It seems she still didn't understand that she was restrained.

"Of course I am, why else would I be here?" Sweet, sweet lies.

Her eyes suddenly filled with alarm.

"Petey!" she creamed, making Peter jump. He was standing behind her, there is no way she knew he was in the same room with her "the child under my care, have you seen him?" Peter gritted his teeth "He must be so worried, I should go back to him as soon as possible, he doesn't like staying alone at home.."

Peter's eyes blazed with hellfire.

How dare she speak of him like she cares?!

"Oh, don't worry" Tony looked at Peter with eyes that clearly said that if he ruined the man's fun he would be gutted alive "he's close by, you can see him whenever you want to"

The slight panic in the woman's eyes faded, a smile appearing instead. I wonder why.

"Thank you so mu-"

Her words of gratefulness were not destined to reach their end, as a fist brutally connected with her stomach, bruising her internal organs, especially her stomach, making Nona spit up bile. The sounds of her breath getting stuck in her throat were music, the choking made his skin crawl with the rush he remembered all too well. Tony didn't let her finish recovering and yanked her head up by her hair, slapping her face so hard she hit the arm of the chair. The action made her right cheek flush pink and her nose to start bleeding.

Yes-yes. Blood. Let there be blood.

Tony quickly leaned in and licked up the little waterfall of the scarlet liquid. So. Fucking. Good.

The honest confusion in her eyes was as good of a sight as one of Van Gogh's paintings. The blond tried to raise her hands and push the man away, but found out that she couldn't. It was at that moment that Nona knew, she was in deep trouble.


	5. Five

Pathetic.

The only word Tony could think of while looking at the vibrating form of the woman in front of him. Her head was down, half of her features hidden. He couldn't help but scoff at the sharp beggarly noises she was producing with that puffy mouth of hers.

Has the guts to try and rape someone, but can't handle a little pain?

It was obvious she was one of those people. People that thought misfortune won't happen to them, that it will step them aside, that it will happen to another person. Unfortunately for her, life doesn't work like that.

The blood he had licked up had already been replaced by another wave, running down her nose, through her lips and collecting on her chin.

Tony's nonexistent heart skipped a bit when a drop fell down, staining her white shirt a dark and unbelievably beautiful red.

What a waste it was.

Why couldn't people understand the importance of the substance flowing through their veins? Blood was the ultimate synonym of beauty in his eyes. If he were to decide, the glorious red would be used in every aspect of human life.

Wouldn't it be lovely to marvel at paintings birthed by blood? Wouldn't it be magnificent to drink it like juice? Wouldn't it be amazing to just fucking shower in it like it was water?

His breath hitched for a moment at the thought of scarlet covering him whole. Just being... everywhere. Not an ounce of skin staying unblemished. The smell of metal filling his nostrils and ingraining itself there. The crimson filling his mouth with its sickly sweet taste, leaking around his teeth and drying on the walls of his throat. For him the thought was the equivalent of a teenager's wet dream about their crush.

He gulped down the spit which his glands produced during his little dream trip and instinctually came as close to her as he could, ferociously cupping her face with his hand, not giving a single fuck that it must've hurt like hell, and forcefully reoriented it so he could look into her eyes.

Eyes were the mirrors to a human's inner world, after all. You could be a master at hiding body language, you could be a master at lying with a straight face, but you can never trick yourself into hiding behind your eyes. They always tell the truth.

What he saw made his insides curdle with pleasure, because he saw eyes that were wider than that of an animal caught in a death trap. Pupils blown, sclera bloodshot and teary - the unmistakable signs of panic flooding through her system.

Tony understood then and there.

She was afraid of death

Not just dying painfully, but afraid of death overall.

It wasn't surprising, most of his victims were the same, only a chosen few he had met defied that statistic. One of those people was currently standing in the same room with him.

For all his genius, Tony could not understand fear of death. He threw himself into battle against every known and unknown foe of the avengers, being aware that he could get injured and killed. But a man that fears death, in his opinion, neither can live to full extent, nor has the right to.  
Fear doesn't let you escape death, it only makes it longer, more torturous and full of agony.

Nona, in turn, had a five star view of Tony's eyes, a clear window straight into his chocolate orbs. And she saw his eyes. Eyes that lacked a very crucial detail, fatal for every human. For a moment, for a very tiny period of time, all of her panic and terror slipped away, like water running down the drain, making her wonder, where, oh where, has the beauty gone? There's no beauty in the eyes without a soul.

And she remembered.

She remembered being surrounded by those soulless eyes all her life.

The cold, frosty feel he had in his eyeballs made Nona shudder. Just one look was enough to understand - the man didn't have a heart in his chest cavity, that it shriveled up and died at some point in his life.

Tony released her face from his iron grip, the freed flesh quickly changing its color from white to finger shaped red splotches, and decided to try her a little, see how her skin would feel under his touch.

Stark's hand gently ran through her quickly bruising and swollen jaw, the action causing Nona to wince. He idly wondered if her face felt like the fires of hell were licking up her skin, because, if the afterlife existed, that is what was going to happen in a few hours or days. He doubted any of the people in that room would be embracing God any time soon. If ever.

The more his hand progressed, the shakier she got, Tony's touch sending jolts of electricity everywhere Nona's nerve endings could reach, as if warning her that they soon would be under viscous duress. He petted the shell of her ear and tucked the runabout hair behind it, then creeped to her cheek, showing special attention to her freckles.

After getting tired of that particular area, Tony's thumb trailed to her mouth, fondling with her lips at first, then forcefully penetrating them to get inside. Nona didn't dare to bite him or deny him access via her teeth, so Stark didn't have any problem getting where he wanted.

The man's actions were freaking Nona the hell out. She knew that look on his face; eyes dead, face pretty, expression friendly, ill in mind. He was one of those people that hid behind the mask of friendliness and endless charisma, shrouding their inner emptiness with normal human emotions.

She knew, because she was one of those people.

So, while feeling the salty skin in her mouth do somersaults with her tongue, the only thing she wished for was for this to be a bad dream. She couldn't have fucked up that badly. Everything was planned and perfect, but for the life of her, she couldn't remember how she ended up here. As soon as her eyes were able to focus and show her where she was, her stomach became a dead weight, feeling like it instantly filled with lead.

There were tables around her, filled with knives, scalpels, syringes of all shapes and forms, ropes, needles, all kinds of sharp objects that she didn't even know the name of. It didn't take a genius to understand what was going on there.

Tony, eventually, took his finger out of her mouth, forming a little bridge of spit stretching from her lips to his thumb. He carefully brought his hand up and inserted his finger into his mouth, licking it clean of Nona's fluids.

The action reminded her of how that...that psycho had licked up her blood off her face! The way his eyes lidded in ecstasy when he swallowed it all up reminded her of how men looked like during sex, as if the two actions were on the same level of pleasure.

As if it tasted Good.

Tony stood up from his crouching position.

Nona knew that there was no pressure being applied to her body, if you exclude the restrains, but the way Tony was circling her, going around her with smooth sliding steps, reminded her of how a python would wrap itself around its prey before it throttled it.

He was examining her, estimating her value, as if she was nothing but a doll he was going to buy to play with in his dollhouse.

"Our bodies are the biggest treasure one can have" the calm voice of her captor sounded through the room "and you've kept yours well, I'll give you that."

Or, maybe, she was wrong... maybe he had already bought her, and she already was in his dollhouse.

Stark sighed, he skin feeling like a million of needles were dancing on it, then he licked his lips, purposefully dragging it out and making a show of it.

"I'll leave your pretty face alone for awhile" Tony pouted like a child "You have to feel what's going to happen to you in perfect clarity"

The panic flooding her system reared it's ugly head again, stronger than ever, and the blonde didn't know what to be scared about; her life, her health or the way the man said 'for awhile'. It meant that he was intending to do something to her face, just not now.

The blonde's heart made a terrified staccato, blood rushing faster and faster through her body with each beat of the ceaselessly active muscle.

Nona tried to move her hands, knowing how futile her attempt was going to be, but the last, smallest bit of her hope died with the restraints not even budging.

She was tied up. It was bad. Not being able to move was bad, bad, bad! It meant no self-defense. It meant being at somebody's mercy, and from the looks of it, that somebody was going to use her to her full extent.

She was thirteen all over again, tied to his father's bed with her mother standing in the corner, watching the show.

Nona knew that begging, crying and wallowing in her misery would just amuse her captor more, it was confirmed with the glint in his eyes when she was trashing in her restraints and failing to get free, so she needed another tactic. Something to scare him, maybe? Stark was famous, more than his pleasure he must care for his status, mustn't he?

"There's a child at home waiting for me, he must have already noticed that I haven't come back and called the police" she, actually, didn't have any idea what hour of the day it was and for how long she had been gone, but anything is better than nothing "when they find you, you will be in deep trouble, Stark!"

They both knew it was an empty threat even before she opened her mouth, and Tony smiled like the most innocent of sheep in the herd.

"Oh. I'm aware, you told about him a few minutes back. Peter, wasn't it?" His eyes trailed somewhere behind her back, to the spot she couldn't see "Do you really think that anyone, let alone the police, can find you?"

Nona was about to growl in despair from her own helplessness when Stark's eyes returned to her, and effectively, shut her up.

"Okay. Let's pretend that we live in a prefect world where the police work like they're supposed to, saving kittens from trees and helping grannies pass the streets" he clicked his tongue "are you sure that boy of yours would've called the authorities in the first place?"

"W-What do you mean?! Of course he would!" Nona bit out, scandalized.

"No" Came a cold voice from behind her "I wouldn't"

That voice

Nona's lungs suddenly decided not to bother with inhaling air. What was the point if she was going to be dead soon, anyway?

A couple of footsteps bounced of the tiled ground before a slim figure entered the field of her vision.

But... that couldn't be Peter, could it? Peter was the synonym of happiness, kindness and endless enthusiasm - none of which she could see in his face. The boy standing in front of her was completely different. His happiness toppled by a heavy burden pressing on his shoulders, his kindness hanging by a thread in the boy's eyes, his enthusiasm replaced by pacifism.

And that was the moment Nona's brain made her remember the events of the night.

It hit her like a spurt of icy cold water in the face, almost making the woman physically recoil. Maybe she would've, if she wasn't tied up.

He was here the whole time, it seems, and they both knew she was bullshiting from the very first word that left her mouth. The absurdity of the situation she found herself in was so strong she couldn't help but chuckle at her own stupidity.

Yes. Stupid. And idiot. That's what she was.

Everything would've gone perfectly if she acted according to the plan.

But she got greedy. Selfish.

She couldn't resist taking him to the alley.

"Do you want to have the first go?"

The blonde's head shot up in panic, immediately understanding what Stark meant, as did Peter, not expecting such an offer.

He turned his head, locking eyes with his ex-caretaker, feeling the molten lava of anger flowing through his veins just with one look at her disgustingly beautiful face and almost nodded his head, itching to take one of the scalpels and slash her to pieces, when -

'With great power comes great responsibility'

\- the stupid quote sounded in his head like a broken record.

His anger immediately put itself out, his resolve crumbling.

"N-no" Peter winced at the stutter.

Stark pursed his lips, eyes darkening for a millisecond.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I am"

Stark puffed air out of his nose to show his irritation at Peter's hesitation. He still had a theory to test, the one questioning if seeing people hurt in real life by another's hand would 'turn him on', so to speak, and the only way he can do it safely was with the help of Peter.

"Very well"

Tony wasn't going to leave it like this - he decided - he was going to make Peter hurt her, whether he wanted to or not.

He clapped his hands together and came up to the table to examine its contents. Sometimes he looks ups different methods of causing pain, but he's far from being an expert in that aspect. The hat goes to the medieval torturers. He hummed a little and picked up a thick and long needle.

"Hey, Peter" he called out while gradually approaching Nona "have you ever hit your funny bone?"

Peter crossed his hands and frowned, trying to understand what Tony was going to do with the needle.

"Yes, everyone has, I think."

Hitting the funny bone was one of the most irritating and sharp pains he had felt in his life. If that's what Nona was going to feel, he almost felt sorry for her.

"Let me educate you" Tony called out, crouching beside Nona's left hand "the funny bone isn't actually a bone" he rotated the woman's hand in the restrain, enough to have a clear view of her elbow "it's a nerve, the ulnar nerve, to be precise."

Peter already knew that. He studied well while he was in school and biology was one of his favorite subjects along with chemistry and science.

Tony dug his thumb into her elbow, not enough to cause her pain, but Nona whimpered in fear nonetheless, trying to make herself go as far from Stark as possible.

"Human nerves are mostly protected by bone and muscle, but the ulnar nerve, near the elbow, is only protected by a layer of skin and fat, making it embarrassingly easy to reach"

That's what the needle was for, then?

"Now" Tony took the needle "imagine the pain you feel when you hit your funny bone" He brought it up to her elbow, putting it on the skin "and dial it up by 10" he pushed it forward.

Nona thrashed in her seat, the pain still not enough to make her scream, but she could feel the needle slowly entering her body, approaching its goal.

"You'll just make it worse if you thrash around."

The words didn't reach their destination. Or didn't serve their purpose, who knew.

"Oh. The nerve of this woman" he said as he hit the spot.

An exhilarating cocktail of numbness, tingling and pain shot all the way through Nona's hand and up to her neck.

That's when the screams began.

And boy. What screams they were.

The first one made the hair on Peter's back stand. It was loud and piercing, without the woman trying to restrain herself.

"Oh God, more! Make another one!" The maniac cried in pleasure at hearing the woman scream.

The alien feelings appearing in Peter's gut from hearing the sound of another's pain were exciting and thrilling and so much more that he couldn't begin to explain them.  
It was intriguing and horrifying. Freeing and binding. What if he just... gives in?

'With great power comes great responsibility'

No. He won't. Of course he won't.

Tony left the needle where it was and stood up, stealing a glance at Peter.

He saw the same look the boy had when he was explaining himself. The charm of violence hypnotizing him and quickly disappearing.

Maybe a little bit more pain will finally convince him? What should he do to captivate him more?

"Did you like it?"

Stark obviously did, judging from his heated remarks during the process.

Peter didn't know how to answer.

The obvious answer would be 'yes, absolutely yes', but it scared him. As if If he said it out loud, it will become reality, so he decided to fiddle with his hands and not answer.

"I asked you a question, Peter."

"I-I... I don't know..."

Tony just made a bored face and picked a pair of forceps from the table, giving the needle in her elbow a wiggle for good measure, causing her to scream again.

"I think you know what nail pulling is."

"I do."

"Good."

Peter didn't know why it was a good thing.

"No! Please! Stop!"

The woman, surprisingly, held on a little longer than Tony thought before she began begging. Her rational mind must've told her at some point that pleading with a monster was useless, but now, in the face of agony, rational thinking wasn't really a priority.

"Pete! Petey! Help me, please!"

Peter scoffed, without realizing that he did it, and ignored her.

"You done?"

The chilling voice made Nona stop her attempts at asking for help and reduced her to plain hysterics.

She was thrashing and screaming, crying and whimpering, threatening and pleading. Everything was wrong and far, but at the same time too realistic.

Yes.

This situation was the purest form of reality.

Annoyed at her antics, Tony brought his foot up and kicked her right between the legs.

Nona made an almost animal sound and crossed them, trying to both shield herself and alleviate the pain.

"Lesson number two, a kick to the genitals doesn't hurt just for men."

He then proceeded to kick her again, this time to the tibia, earning a sharp cry in answer.

"Lesson number three, when I ask, you answer."

The last exclamation was coupled with a look at Peter, to make him understand that it didn't concern just Nona.

Deciding not to beat around the bush anymore, he crouched at her hand.

Peter watched Mr. Stark grasp each of her nails in turn and slowly pry it from the nail bed, tearing it free from the digit. By the end of it, there were a stack of nails under Stark's feet when their lawful place was now open and exposed. He repeated the action on the other hand, Nona sounding more and more desperate on each finger.

Peter expected to feel horrified, scared or, at least, disgusted by what he saw.

<strike>But he wasn't.</strike>

His hand twitched involuntarily, longing to participate, but Peter restrained it.

"Ok, what is your problem?" Mr. Stark's irritated voice accused him.

Peter averted his eyes.

"What do you mean?"

"Kid, you're vibrating."

Peter looked down to see that, yes, he was.  
Everything is just so conflicting. He didn't know what to do. Listen to his body that tells him it wants to experience more of this strange feeling or his mind that tells him he was doing very-very wrong things.

"It's just... this thing my uncle told me, before, you know..."

The boy's voice was filled with so much anguish that Tony immediately understood before whatexactly.

"What did he tell you?"

Sharing the words Peter considered sacred with someone like the man in front of him felt like the ultimate betrayal to his uncle, but Peter decided to answer with the truth.

"With great power comes great responsibility"

That is what's been keeping him back, huh?

Tony smiled a little.

He understood what kind of impact the words of a dying man can have on someone. He was a prime example of that. If only Yinsen knew whom he was helping. He shut down the weapons division of SI as an homage to the old doctor, but becoming Iron Man wasn't for him. It was for Tony. More particularly - for revenge. After everything that happened with Obie and the Ten Rings, people, for some reason, began hailing him as a hero for killing terrorists and changing his ways. Tony just went with the flow. It was a free pass to kill people and call it heroism. Nobody ever brought up the civilian casualties in any of his missions.

"'With great power comes great responsibility, correct?"

Peter shakily nodded.

"Then why aren't you doing anything?"

"Huh?"

"Why aren't you helping her?" Tony pointed at the drooling, bleeding woman on the chair.

"Can I?"

"No, you can't." He narrowed his eyes "But you don't even want to try."

If he wants the boy to stick along, he has to make him want to hurt her, not to force him. To educate someone you don't need a lot of time, you just need to use the time you have in a productive way.

"You've already crossed the boundaries, kid. There's no point in holding back."

"No!" Tony's eyes widened. "I haven't done anything wrong!"

"Yet" it was said very quietly for the teen not to hear, but Peter's super hearing caught it.

What did he mean 'yet'?

"I've been meaning to ask her something" the subtle change of the subject didn't go unnoticed.

"What exactly?"

"Why did she take you into the alley?"

"Because the neighbors would've heard and come to he-"

"Oh, don't make me laugh!" Tony cut him off sharply. "There are so many ways of making you quiet and immobile while she rode you like a jockey!"

The brutal response was like a slap to the face.

"There was a purpose, and I'm going to find it out."

He took a pair of pliers from the table and strode to Nona.

"Hello there~"

Tony put her nailless finger between the plier.

"Why did you take him into the alley?"

"I don't know what you're talking abo-"

Tony squeezed. Her finger compressing on itself, bone muscle and skin mixing with each other with a popping disgusting noise.

When he understood that there was nothing left to squeeze, her finger reduced to a pancake like state, he took another pair of pliers with a sharp edge, putting it where the other pair was a second ago.

"Why?"

She was too busy hyperventilating to answer.

He cut the finger of with a swift movement of his hand, then took the old, bloodied pair, and put the second finger between it and repeated the action. As he was about to go for the third -

"Have you ever seen those pigs in farms?" The calm, almost numb voice of the woman surprised Tony so much he almost jumped.

"They're being fed, watered, cleaned and taken care of since the day of their birth. The farmers cool them down on a hot day, feed them until their bellies are full, provide them with health care and shelter."

The static expression of her face got replaced with a toothy smile.

"The pigs get to trust them. Thinking that humans are doing it out of love." She laughed hysterically. "And they diligently follow them into the slaughterhouse. Isn't it fun? Tell me!"

So that was the case.

"Wasn't it fun, Petey?"

Peter bit his lip

'With great power -

"The way I took care of you for two months?"

\- comes great -

"The way I loved you and protected you."

\- responsibility'

"The way you followed me like an obedient pig." 

<strike>like I did with my parents</strike>

'With great power -

"I wanted to test if you really were so thick and attached to follow me into a fucking alleyway in the middle of the night with no explanation whatsoever."

\- comes great -

"And i relished in the look of that naive surprise on your face when I pinned you to the wall!"

\- respon  
sibi  
li  
ty'

"Your mouth tasted so good on my lips, if this psycho hadn't come along I would've tasted your di-"

She didn't get to finish as Peter, in his blind anger, kicked her in the tibia, successfully snapping it in half with a loud cry of defiance. He didn't stop there, the fury, the madness finally bursting out of him in a big wave of desperate violence as he kneed her in the face, his very being tingling with pleasure at the sound of her nose snapping.

He was about to hit her again when Tony put a hand on his shoulder, so much like the first time he did it.

"Stop, that hit might kill her too fast."

Peter's breath hitched. Stark must have noticed his enhanced strength, no human can snap a bone in half with a single kick. He slowly put his hand down.

"Listen to me, Peter."

Tony didn't expect such an emotional response. All he could do was to try and alleviate the situation.

"During all this years I've spent causing pain to people, I've come to understand that a human's most painful spot isn't on their body. It's their memory."

He tightened his grip.

"It reminds you of times that will never happen again, of faces you will never see again, of words you'll never hear again, and lies that will never become the truth. And I know that your memory has been tearing you apart for a long time, that most of your pain comes from there."

Peter didn't dare move.

"You shouldn't let your memory control you. You've got to let go. Only the fools are controlled by their past, the smart look into the future. Fools are born, live and die in chains, because they're weak."

The words were like a handful of water in a desert, and he quickly soaked them up, greedily filling the hole that suspiciously looked like the organ responsible for love.

"Which one are you?"

Peter's side - his human side, having already cracked long ago, was finally crumbling like a child's sand castle, piece by piece, being replaced by something dark and corrupting. And it was resisting, and it was screaming in agony, and it was telling him that something was not right, that he shouldn't get rid of it, that it's an essential part of who he is. Peter Parker is **DEFINED** by his humanity, always has been.

Always will be?


End file.
